Santa Claus Is Coming Tonight
by rizlow
Summary: Just a little Christmas present for my followers on here and Tumblr (rizlow1 or rizlowwritessortof) Dean x Reader one shot.


You walk into the bedroom and you can't stop the giggle that bubbles forth at the sight before you. Dean is propped up against the headboard of the bed, a Santa hat on his head, very velour-looking boxers in red with white trim, and the red and white Christmas tree skirt around his shoulders - nothing else. He has his trademark sexy, sassy smirk on his face as he looks up at you, his long, bare legs stretched out in front of him.

"Why are you wearing the tree skirt?" you ask, laughing.

Dean forces himself to look stern, but his eyes are still twinkling. "Little girl, is that any way to talk to Santa? On Christmas Eve?"

You try to look ashamed, but you are unable to stop smiling. "Oh. Santa. I guess I just didn't recognize you sitting on my bed half naked."

He winks. "Well, even Santa needs to take a break, you know. Now why don't you get over here and prove to me that you can be a good girl."

You feel a little catch in your breath as you see the spark in his eyes, and you slowly pull your t-shirt off over your head. Then you turn your back as you wriggle out of your jeans, smiling as you hear the sound he makes when you bend over. You leave the bright red lingerie on and saunter over to the bed, climbing up the length of the bed as he watches, his eyes on the mounded tops of your breasts, the nipples barely covered by scarlet lace.

"Nice. Did I buy that for you?" he asks, dropping character, a slight catch in his voice.

"No, Santa. I bought it for YOU." Your voice is sultry, and you see the growing bulge in his boxers twitch under the plush red cloth.

"Well, that definitely gets your name penciled in on the nice list," he murmurs, a little growl in his voice, and as you straddle his thighs, he reaches a fingertip to trace slowly along the scalloped edge of your bra before tilting his head to look up at you salaciously. "Santa definitely approves."

Your red thong leaves your cheeks bare, and he smiles just a little as you settle yourself on his lap, warm against his thighs. You let a red-tipped nail trail down over his chest and abs, then trace a little circle over the head of his cock, your eyes wide and innocent as his hips buck up slightly at your touch. "I see you brought me a package, Santa."

He closes his hand around your wrist and pulls it gently behind your back. "Well, you haven't proved you're a good girl, yet." He smiles at your little pout, and leans up to kiss your bottom lip. "Santa's gonna need you to sit there like a very good girl, with your hands behind your back, and we'll see if you get to open your package. Okay?"

You let out an exaggerated sigh, still pouting, and nod slowly, obediently putting your other hand behind your back and grasping your wrist. He reaches up to your knees, moving them apart as wide as is comfortable for you, shifting his legs a little to accommodate you, then running his palms up the insides of your thighs and back down.

"Can you be a good girl? Do you need me to tie your hands?" A little shiver goes through you as he pulls a length of velvet ribbon from beneath the pillow. "Santa wants to help you be a good girl. Do you want me to help?"

You nod slowly, your breath coming harder now, and you can't suppress a little movement of your hips as your body tries desperately for just a little friction to ease the ache between your thighs. He reaches behind you and wraps the soft cloth around your wrists, tying it snugly, his face just milimeters from your breasts, but he doesn't touch you.

He straightens back up and sits back, letting his eyes roam over you slowly like a physical caress. "You're so beautiful, baby. Santa really hopes you can be a good girl, because he really wants to give you this package," he says, his voice a low, rough rumble in his chest. Then he reaches for a pillow, propping it behind his back, and his lips curve in a lazy smile.

He reaches to pull the lace of your bra down, tucking it inside itself to expose your nipples, which harden immediately in the cooler air. You're struggling not to move, your lips parted as you try to control your breathing, but you gasp a little as he runs a finger over your core. "Oh, Santa's baby is hot and wet. Does she need Santa to touch her?"

You manage to partly stifle the whine as you nod, biting your lip. He rubs over you again, harder this time, and the lace against your swollen nub feels like heavenly torture. He puts pressure there with two fingers, rubbing and pushing against you as your hips push back of their own volition. He's staring at you, his eyes heavy-lidded with lust, and he stops for a moment, reaching both hands behind you, tearing the thong apart as he mutters, "Santa will buy you a new pair of panties, baby." He pulls the scrap of fabric from your body and tosses it away, then runs his fingers over you, biting his lip as you whimper softly.

"Oh, you're being such a good girl for Santa," he says roughly, sliding his fingers through your wet heat, and slipping one, then two digits inside, the heel of his palm keeping pressure on your clit as you push against him. He works with your body's rhythm, beginning to curl his fingers inside you, and you're doing most of the work while he watches you, the way your eyes close, your head thrown back, your lips parted, panting for air.

He bends to run his tongue around, then over a nipple, and you let out a moan that elicits one from him in turn. He sucks at it, softly at first, increasing the pressure as he begins to plunge his fingers into you. When he bites down gently, then sucks hard at the sensitive nub between his teeth, you let out a wavering cry, grinding into his hand as your body shudders violently with your climax. He doesn't let up, and you careen into another abyss of pleasure, the sounds coming from you pure wanton abandon.

When you regain awareness, he is gently stroking over you, watching your face as his other hand supports your back and holds you against him. When your eyes focus on him, he bends to kiss you, soft but all-consuming, and you feel him release the ribbon from around your hands. You move your arms slowly, raising them until they are around his neck, your fingers tickling through the soft, short hairs at his nape, your breasts crushed to his chest.

He leans his forehead against yours, kissing the tip of your nose, and you look up at him from under your lashes. "Santa... was I a good girl? Can I have my package now?"

A low moan emanates from his throat as he bites his lip for a moment before answering. "Yeah, baby girl, you were so good." You carefully pull his boxers down to his thighs as he lifts up to help, and he hisses even though you're careful not to touch him yet.

"Santa, is that all for me?" you whisper, and he groans at the sound of your voice.

"Yeah, baby. Come here and sit on Santa's lap," he growls, and you scoot up, lifting yourself over him as he guides himself, both of you unable to quiet the sounds you make at the intimate touch. You lower yourself down until, inch by sensational inch, he's fully encompassed by your warmth, and he lets out a long, low moan that almost makes you come without another touch.

"Uhhh, baby, I can't..." he gasps softly, and you bend to whisper in his ear.

"Just let go." And he does. He becomes a wild thing, gripping your hips hard, thrusting up into you hard enough to make you bounce, and you cradle his head against your chest, small mewling sounds escaping your lips as you feel yourself begin to flutter and clench around him again. When he comes, he raises up and just holds you there, his cock swelling and throbbing inside you, and you swear you can feel it pulsing through your whole body.

When he lowers himself down, he lays panting against your breast, your fingers caressing his sweat-dampened hair. You finally feel his lips begin to nibble little kisses on your breast, and then he looks up at you, the look in his eyes conveying all that he feels, and your heart almost bursts with the emotion flooding through you for this man.

He kisses you softly, gently, thoroughly. Then he leans his forehead against yours once more, his hand cradling your cheek. "Merry Christmas, baby," he whispers, and you press closer to kiss his lips.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."


End file.
